


"Not just grey Bones, silver. Enterprise silver."

by Espoir



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Suit Porn, it's a PG production kids, just lots of suit appreciation, with Bones love, without the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espoir/pseuds/Espoir
Summary: “I feel like a goddamned penguin,” Leonard announced at large to the table, in case that wasn’t entirely clear.Scotty sniggered but then caught Leonard’s eye and made the smart move of ducking behind the floating orb centrepiece.“A very well-groomed penguin then, Doctor,” said Chekov, cheerily.____Leonard doesn't do suits. Fortunately, he's brought round to the idea.(A fic of suit-appreciation, Bones-appreciation and sappy-conversations-under-the-stars-appreciation.)





	"Not just grey Bones, silver. Enterprise silver."

Leonard felt Uncomfortable.

 “Well, well, as I live and breathe,” said Sulu, looking far too smug for a man in suit made entirely of red silk. Leonard glared at him.

“I like the tie,” Nyota said primly.

“It really does bring out your eyes doc,” Scotty offered. He was in a kilt. As was Keenser. The blue tartan clashed a bit with his greyish skin, but he seemed happy with it.

“I’d have to concur with Mr. Scott. The tuxedo was a good decision, despite the… _extensive_ discussion we’ve been subjected to on the matter,” said the pointy-eared hobgoblin, as though anyone had asked for his fucking opinion.

“I feel like a goddamned penguin,” Leonard announced at large to the table, in case that wasn’t entirely clear.

Scotty sniggered but then caught Leonard’s eye and made the smart move of ducking behind the floating orb centrepiece.

“A very well-groomed penguin then, Doctor,” said Chekov, cheerily. He had slicked his hair back in an obvious attempt to try and make himself look older. It hadn’t worked.

Chekov got up to pull out Leonard’s chair for him, slapping a companionable hand on his shoulder. He offered him a reassuring smile.

“Try to relax Doctor, this is supposed to be _fun.”_

‘Fun’ was not what Leonard would call sitting in Starfleet Academy’s Memorial Hall like they were fucking freshmen again, dressed up in all manner of ridiculousness for a 3-hour award ceremony of too-long acceptance speeches.

It’s not that the Enterprise crew didn’t deserve a little celebration; hell, the first completed 5-year mission in Starfleet history had earnt them that much. Everyone needed to let their hair down now they were back on Earth. But god in heaven would Leonard rather be at bar somewhere downtown with a stiff drink, Jim leaning tipsily against his side and maybe Nyota berating Spock for something or other. That was always a good time.

Oh, and at this alternative celebration, there wouldn’t be any suits.

Leonard didn’t do suits.

He grumbled and huffed and sat down in his assigned seat at the Senior Officers table in his too-tight pants. Who thought fitted tailoring was a good idea, he wanted to know, _who._

Nyota was next to him and wisely pressed a glass of champagne into his hand without saying anything. She was in a green silk evening gown and looked ethereally beautiful. Her smile told Leonard that she was well aware of this fact.

 “You really do look very dashing Doctor,” she said, “if you want my honest opinion, I don’t think the Captain is going to be able to keep his hands off you this evening.”

As well as suits, Leonard also didn’t do blushing, so he knocked back the champagne in one shot to hide said non-blushing.

“It’s a ridiculous. Give me a goddamned hazmat any day over this.”

Nyota grinned.

“You sure about that?” and she looked pointedly over Leonard’s shoulder.

He turned in his seat, trying to find what she was gesturing to and -

Well fuck.

Jim Kirk had just walked in through the large entrance doors ( _late, of course he was, Jim would be late to his own funeral)_ and had paused, surveying the hall - his crew - with a small smile.

He was dressed in a slim-fitting, steel grey suit, with a dark tie and damned _pocket square_. He’d done something with his hair, god if Leonard knew, and shaved properly for once in his life. As an admiral accosted him in conversation and Jim brushed his jacket smooth, smile morphing into something brighter, a little falser, Leonard realised he looked far older than his 29 years.

He looked like a _Captain_.

He looked fucking hot as _hell._

Leonard took back all the shit he’d given Jim’s suit. He loved the suit. And he wanted to peel the suit off Jim as soon as possible.

_“Nope, sorry, you can’t see it yet. It’s a surprise.”_

_“I already know it’s grey, what else is there to know?”_

_“Not just grey Bones,_ silver. Enterprise _silver, if you must know.”_

_“…You’re kidding.”_

_“Would I joke about this sort of thing? I don’t think so. I take tailoring very seriously, even if you don’t.”_

“ _And I’m not allowed to see it, because? You some blushing bride now?”_

_Jim shoots him a weighted look and Leonard flushes. They’ve talked about this, but not for a while. It was a conversation that was going to be had when the mission was finished and all the final reports and briefings complete._

_“Shut up,” Bones tells him._

_“Your words, not mine,” but he’s grinning, teasing, and he throws a pillow at Leonard to make that clear, because mild violence is how James Tiberius Kirk expresses affection._

Jim had clearly managed to make his excuses to the admiral and was now weaving his way over to their table, stopping to chat to crew members on the way, complimenting Galia on her dress, fist-bumping Nurse Chapel, stealing Palmer’s drink to his mock-horror.

Leonard got up without even thinking about it, moving to meet him -

And then. Then he had the satisfaction of seeing Jim catch sight of him, seeing his eyes go wide in exactly the same way Leonard’s had seconds earlier.

And suddenly, all the tight pants and battles with the fucking tie had been worth it.

Because hell, Leonard knew he looked good.

He grinned, slowly, and beckoned Jim over with two fingers.

Even from four tables away, he could see Jim visibly swallow.

“McCoy you’re a cruel, cruel man,” Nyota said in a sing-song voice.

“I know,” Leonard sat back down and reached for the champagne, pouring them both another generous glass and one at the empty seat next to him Jim would presumably be taking. “I’ve gotta to take what I can get.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, and suddenly Jim was right behind him, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“You’ve been complaining about the fucking suit _all week_ and then you turn up looking like _this._ Goddamnit Bones, you have _no idea_ how much I want - how good you-“

Jim seemed to remember himself then and abruptly coughed, straightening.

“Evening ladies and gents, everyone’s looking particularly gorgeous may I just say.”

“Yeah, some more than others,” said Sulu, tipping his glass at Leonard.

Leonard glared at him, and pulled Jim down into his seat.

Jim smiled, a little impishly, a faint flush still high on his cheeks that yes, actually, Leonard would be claiming the credit for putting there, thank you very much.

“So. _Enterprise Silver?_ ”

Jim preened. “Do you like it?”

Leonard paused, let his gaze drag over Jim’s suit-jacketed chest, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah,” he said, at length, letting the Southern drawl Jim secretly loved so much colour his voice a little more, “it’ll do.”

“ALRIGHT,” said Scotty loudly, “I think we’ll all do well to remember that there are CHILDREN PRESENT-“

“If you are talking about me,” Chekov looked abruptly mutinous, “I must _object-“_

Nyota patted him on the arm, “it’s alright, we all know you’re a big boy now.”

Chekov spluttered in indignation, and Spock, thankfully, intervened.

“Captain, don’t you have an opening speech to deliver?”

Jim blanched. “Shit, yes, fuck I do – alright, I’ll be back in a bit. Drink up everyone, enjoy, the alcohol’s on Starfleet’s budget, not ours, so go for it.”

Scotty and Chekov met each other’s eye and beamed, all disagreement forgotten.

“Well you coulda mentioned that a wee _earlier_ Captain,” said Scotty, lunging for the pale purple liquor in the middle of the table that Leonard thought looked pretty suspect, “alright, whose down for shots then?”

“If I have to cut my evening short to pump someone’s stomach,” Leonard growled, “I will not be happy about it, I want to make that clear now. We are off duty; alcohol poisoning for any one of you will not be enough to persuade me to change that status.”

 “Yes, yes, you’re very intimidating McCoy,” Nyota waved him off, not making any attempt to sound the least bit intimidated, “now, what will it be for you, single or double?”

Leonard shot Jim a helpless _please don’t leave me with them_ look and Jim, the traitor, just laughed.

“I’ll be back shortly, promise not to drive the good doctor to distraction in the meantime,” he told the table.

“I don’t think it would be wise to expect that promise to be upheld,” Spock said gravely, in that overly-serious manner that Leonard suspiciously thought was his attempt at sarcasm.

Jim laughed again, and then, the fucker, he blew Leonard a kiss as he made his way up to the stage.

Leonard groaned, sinking back into his chair a little. It was going to be a long night.

Nyota put a purple shot in front of him, “come on, you’re going to need it I think,” she said, lips curling in a smile.

“Fuck,” said Leonard, and took the damned shot.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the fact Leonard still would have probably preferred some dive bar with a whole lot less fluorescent and questionable liquor and a whole lot more of the strong stuff he knew, the award ceremony was, he had to admit, not that terrible.

Jim’s opening speech set a jovial tone, making the assembled crew laugh with his typical good humour, and that carried them through the Admirals and assembled VIP’s less-entertaining monologues.

The awards themselves were thoughtful, with the serious Decorations for Gallantry, Order of Heroism and professional accolades and promotions accompanied by the less serious. There was a prize for Best Practical Joke (which really should have gone to Chekov and that stunt he pulled with the tribble, but they weren’t supposed to talk about that) and the Most Creative Ration Usage, which rightly went to Chef for the turnip stew with mashed turnips and turnip fries he’d made for the population of Gonal IV, when a moth infestation decimated literally every other thing on the planet but apparently wasn’t a fan of the root vegetable.

Throughout the speeches and nominations however, Leonard found himself slightly distracted.

Apparently Nyota had been right. Jim could _not_ keep his hands to himself.

He kept sneaking a hand under the tablecloth to Leonard’s upper thigh, or making an excuse to fiddle with his cufflinks or brush some imaginary speck of fluff off the lapels of Leonard’s tux.

He was insufferable.

Leonard shot him a severe look that had made more Sensible People, who actually had some stake in their continued existence in the universe, quaver.

But then, Jim was not Sensible People.

Jim’s hand had found its way around Leonard’s shoulders and he was running a finger up and down on the delicate skin behind Leonard’s ear, where the hair was freshly trimmed and neat.

“Jim. Stop. I mean it.”

Leonard had his eyes fixed on the stage, where Mallora Hayes was graciously accepting her Star Cross, but he could feel Jim’s grin.

“I like the suit,” Jim said simply, not bothering to keep his voice down, and now Leonard could fucking _hear_ the grin too, “if you could see you right now, you wouldn’t blame me either.”

Leonard felt himself flushing as Nyota turned around deliberately just to raise an eyebrow at them, before turning back to the stage.

It may have been 20 years since he was last sat at his Grandma’s table, dusty desert breeze fluttering the gingham curtains, but goddamn he could remember the manners she’d instilled in him. Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.

Leonard turned to give Jim a stern look that said as much, but Jim’s entirely innocent expression was given away by the fact his eye was twitching. He was trying not to laugh.

The evening passed, and before Leonard realised it, they were at the final award of the night. The most-anticipated joke award of the evening; the crew nominated ‘Real MVP.’

Nominations had been the topic of much discussion and debate in the weeks leading up to their landing and the awards night; there was no specific criteria, just the general idea that an overlooked member of the crew who contributed in ways above and beyond their position should be recognised. The only exception was that the Captain could not win – Jim had introduced this rule himself, in a surprising moment of generosity and humility. It was not as if he needed the prize though; he’d already been up 4 times to the stage for various commendations.

Leonard had put forward Chekov for his own nomination, not that he would ever tell the kid. There was something about his boundless energy, enthusiasm and unrelenting dedication that was a breath of fresh air on the bridge. His heavily accented command announcements were a ship-wide reassurance, and the jokes and puns he’d started to throw in towards the end were a welcomed levity on the monotonous journey home. He was also one of the youngest people aboard, and Leonard thought it only fair that the teenager who’d given up the prime of his youth for 5 years in deep space deserved some recognition.

Admiral Graveston had reached the stand, and was introducing the award with a droning dreariness it did not deserve. Leonard rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink. Jim squeezed his knee under table where his hand had found itself again, eyes on the stage dutifully for once, and Leonard could see him smile.

He studied Jim’s profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the working of his jaw as he fought to keep his smile in check, the spot just below his ear he’d missed shaving. Leonard should do the decent thing and offer to help him out again with the shave; Jim was clearly incompetent.

“Dr Leonard McCoy,” the speakers announced, with a vague air of surprise.

Leonard froze.

The bridge table erupted.

In fact, the whole hall did.

“A clear winner this year from the U.S.S. Enterprise for the ‘MVP award’, commended for going above and beyond the call of ship’s doctor, for providing exemplary healthcare to planet populations, in the face of disaster, disease, famine, as well as consistently ensuring the health and happiness of the Enterprise’s crew – “

“Jim,” Leonard said lowly, his voice oddly constricted as Nyota slapped him on the back, Chekov crowing in delight as he clapped, “what did you-“

Jim’s eyes were just a little too bright. He was beaming stupidly, and then he leaned over and was kissing him, hard and all-too-brief.

“Of course I fucking didn’t do anything,” he whispered, and Leonard could barely hear him over Scotty repeatedly slamming his fist into the table; Nyota’s shrill whistling behind him, “It’s a crew voted award Bones, and they voted for _you._ Now go up and get your damn award you moron.”

Leonard stood, and the cheering on all the surrounding tables rose to a crescendo. He blinked hard, not sure how to respond – but then Jim gave him a shove, and he went up and got his damn award.

 

* * *

 

Much later, when the awards were finished and the speeches done and the open bar had closed (too late, if you asked Leonard, the entire crew were already beyond the point of any socially acceptable drunkenness), Leonard realised Jim was missing.

He was no longer doing the rounds, congratulating winners but always being sure to keep Leonard in his vision to shoot him a smile every now and again.

It didn’t take him long to figure out where Jim would have gone.

The balcony was open-air, the cool late night breeze welcome after the heat and crush of bodies in the hall.

Jim was leaning against the railing on his forearms, hands hanging loosely into empty space. He’d pulled his tie loose, and taken off his cufflinks, rolling up the sleeves. They were both without jackets; Chekov had made the mistake of claiming he could handle his vodka better than Nyota and had challenged her to a drinking contest. He’d made it about 8 shots in before passing out; the jackets were currently tucked around their engineer as a blanket, as he slept it off in Scotty’s booth at the bar.

Leonard shoved his hands into tailored pants, fucking with the fabric line probably, but hey, it was 3am.

“You’ve spent 5 fucking years in space, and the second night back planet-side you’re already seeking it out.”

Jim snorted, and shook his head. It wasn’t a denial.

Leonard joined him at the railing, back to the view, shoulder bumping Jim’s companionably.

“I’m so fucking proud of you Bones. God, I can’t tell you how much you deserved that MVP award.”

Leonard swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. You might think that after 5 years trapped in a tin can with the man he’d be used to the effect of Jim Kirk’s Affection in all its unrestrained glory, but it still put him off guard a little bit.

He fiddled with his cufflinks, trying to undo them, stalling.

“I was just doing my job Jim, all those things I did – they’re just my job.”

“Really,” Jim deadpanned, “you really expect me to agree with you on that? I was _there_ Bones, for every single thing old Gravestone read out. And much more. As were you! You know you pull more than your weight. I’m just glad everyone else noticed as much as I do.”

“Well,” Leonard muttered, still trying to get the cufflinks to cooperate, “it’s not like I’m the only one, is it? You put your life on the line every goddamn day and there’s plenty of others who – oh for fuck’s sake, how do these fucking things work, I’m a _doctor_ for god’s sake, I should be able to work these little shits.”

The cufflinks were not cooperating. Jim laughed, and after a second, turned, placing his warm hands over Leonard’s. The silent _let me you idiot_ was clear, and Leonard surrendered gratefully, as Jim twisted the small Starfleet insignias.

“You’re underselling yourself Bones,” Jim said quietly as he worked, freeing Leonard’s wrists, “again. Risking life and limb when the all the other doctors had already been infected on that plague planet and going in anyway? Discovering that paediatric vaccine that made the docs back here lose their absolute shit because you did a better job up on a spaceship in your free time than they could do with the best resources and minds on the planet? Somehow being on the bridge all the goddamned time to be the voice of reason and common sense we all need? Letting everyone who was suffering from that Angorian virus stay in their dorms and making the rounds personally, even weeks after people had recovered, to make sure they were alright? Researching and then running that goddamned maternity yoga for those rescued Companions when you were meant to be on leave?"

Jim laughed, and Leonard rolled his eyes. No-one had let him have a moment's peace since they'd found him demonstrating tree pose to a room of expectant mothers.

"You go above and beyond Bones," Jim continued, "you always have, and the fact you don’t even realise you’re doing it is what makes it so incredible. I don’t have the best crew in the ‘Fleet for nothing, they notice, even if you don’t. Do I need to go on?”

“Well when you reel stuff off like that then obviously it sounds impressive but-“

“Do I need to go on?” Jim repeated, firmly now, his bright eyes insistent.

“Oh please do,” Leonard said, his whole face feeling very hot, “it’s such a novelty to hear you talking with such admiration about someone who isn’t yourself.”

Jim slapped his wrist lightly. “Come on. You play the grump card, and you enjoy grouching at people for missing their check-ups and vaccines, but you _care_ , Bones. The crew knows it. And I do too. It’s partly why I love you so fucking much.”

Leonard’s throat abruptly went completely dry.

They’d said it before. Of course they had. Jim just had a knack of sounding so fucking _earnest_ about it.

Jim seemed satisfied by Leonard’s silence and he leaned over to drop an affectionate kiss on his cheek before turning back to the view.

The inky darkness before them was beginning to shift. There was the faintest smudge of blue climbing over the horizon.

 Jim’s eyes were fixed above them though; on the night sky and the moon, still visible.

Two days, and he was already desperate to get back out there.

It was inevitable really, for a boy born in the stars.

Jim Kirk was always too big for this Earth anyway.

 “I’ll go again you know,” Leonard said, suddenly, feeling Jim tense in surprise next to him. “We’ve only just got home and I know I’ve been going on about it for months but I’ll follow you back into the goddamned dark. God help me Jim, but I always will.”

Jim faced him finally, turning away from the vast sky above them.

“I know Bones,” he said, not quite smiling, “I know.”

“This isn’t my home anyway,” Jim wasn’t asking this of him, why was he still _talking_ goddamnit, “not anymore. It hasn’t been for years.” And then, abruptly, he couldn’t say anymore. He swallowed tightly, looking down.

“It isn’t mine either,” Jim said quietly, “and neither’s out there.”

Jim’s hand was suddenly in Leonard’s, fingers tangling together.

“It’s with you, you moron. You’ve gotta know that by now. Home is wherever you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bones' 'come hither' inspo: 
> 
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/a13047a465238b8489faa173b202784c/tumblr_ooh88wc9lU1vafgt1o1_r1_540.gif
> 
> You're welcome.


End file.
